


Gallant Compliments

by ariel2me



Series: Betha/Egg [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Dunk and Egg
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2018-10-10 18:57:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10445019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me
Summary: Dunk and Egg meeting Betha Blackwood for the first time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this scene from The Sworn Sword:
> 
> When he was gone, Egg said, “I thought how you should speak to Lady Webber, ser. You should win her to your side with gallant compliments.” The boy looked as cool and crisp in his chequy tunic as Ser Eustace had in his cloak.
> 
> Am I the only one who sweats? “Gallant compliments,” Dunk echoed. “What sort of gallant compliments?”
> 
> “You know, ser. Tell her how fair and beautiful she is.”
> 
> Dunk had doubts. “She’s outlived four husbands, she must be as old as Lady Vaith. If I say she’s fair and beautiful when she’s old and warty, she will take me for a liar.”
> 
> “You just need to find something true to say about her. That’s what my brother Daeron does. Even ugly old whores can have nice hair or well-shaped ears, he says.”
> 
> “Well-shaped ears?” Dunk’s doubts were growing.
> 
> “Or pretty eyes. Tell her that her gown brings out the color of her eyes.”

The girl only had eyes for Dunk, ignoring Egg completely. "How tall are you, ser knight? You are taller than my father, and I never thought I would ever meet a man taller than my father," she said, voice full of wonder and amazement.

"I am seven feet tall, my lady,:" Dunk replied. "The man who knighted me used to say -"

"Not _quite_ seven feet tall," Egg interrupted, his third interruption so far, from the time the girl first approached them. His eyes had not left her face for all that time.

"Your squire is rude, ser," the girl remarked, hands on her hips, eyes glaring at Egg. 

"I ... I am not _rude_ ," Egg sputtered. "I am only setting the facts straight. Ser, tell her, ser. Tell her that you are an inch shy of seven feet."

"Well, now, that is true, my lady," Dunk admitted. "I am _almost_ seven feet tall."

"Oh, that is close enough to make no matter," she replied, her glare quickly turning into a smile as her gaze switched from squire to knight. "I must tell my father. I must tell him that I have met the most splendid and gallant knight," she declared, before flouncing away and disappearing, as quickly and stealthily as a ghost.

Egg would not look at Dunk for the rest of the day. Finally, as the sun was setting, Dunk lost his patience. "You're not sulking, are you, lad?"

"She didn't even look at me once. Ser, she stared and stared at you like you were the most magnificent creature she has ever seen, but she wouldn't even look at me," Egg replied. "Not once," he muttered under his breath.

"She looked at you plenty when she was glaring at you," Dunk reminded the boy.

"I was not _rude_ , ser," Egg insisted again.

"No, you only acted like a spoiled little boy who thought his mother was not paying him enough attention."

Egg frowned. "Hardly a mother, ser. She's only a girl. Younger than me, I'd wager, despite her grand way of talking."

"Do you like her?" Dunk asked, meaning only to tease the boy, but the sight of Egg's reddening ears and cheeks turned the question into a serious one. After a while, Dunk said, "I thought you said girls are stupid."

"Not _all_ girls, ser. Only the ones who insisted on rubbing my head for luck."

"Well, this one will never rub your head for luck, we can be certain of that."

"She didn't even want to speak to me," Egg said, mournfully.

Egg looked and sounded so miserable that Dunk felt he had to try and help the boy, no matter how inadequate his assistance might turn out to be.

"Perhaps you could entice her to speak to you with gallant compliments. Wasn't that what you taught me, when I was going to meet the Red Widow?" The Red Widow was a widow no longer, a thought that had not ceased to give Dunk pain. _Leave off, you fool_ , he reminded himself. _The likes of her are not for the likes of Dunk the Lunk._

Egg's eyes were wide open, as big as saucers, and startling in the intensity of their gaze. "Gallant compliments, ser? But she's a girl, not yet a lady."

Dunk considered this. "I suppose _'that gown brings out the color of your lovely eyes'_ might not work as well with girls. Perhaps you could compliment her on her riding skill. You saw her on her pony earlier. She rode as well as any boy I've seen. Better than most, in truth."

Egg pondered this advice in silence. He said nothing else about the girl for the rest of the day.

When the girl returned the next day, she was accompanied by two men-at-arms wearing the Blackwood badge. One of the men said to Dunk, "I come bearing a message from Lord Blackwood, ser. He is eager to meet the brave, gallant and splendid knight his daughter has been describing to him so eloquently, the knight who rescued an old woman and her grandson from the clutches of a band of brigands."

Dunk stared at his feet, blushing uncomfortably. _Brave, gallant and splendid knight?_   What had the girl been telling her father? And what a grave disappointment Dunk would turn out to be, when Lord Blackwood actually set eyes on him.

While Dunk was talking to the two men-at-arms, Egg was desperately trying to engage Lord Blackwood's daughter (whose name turned out to be Betha) in conversation. "Your hair brings out the color of your eyes, my lady," Dunk overheard him saying at one point. _Oh, lad. Don't you mean, 'your gown brings out the color of your eyes'?_

"They are both black, my hair and my eyes. I am well aware of that, even without you pointing it out to me," Betha replied, the scorn obvious in her voice and in her whole demeanor.

 _If she rolled her eyes any harder,_ Dunk thought, _they would disappear into her head._

"You ride very well, my lady," Egg tried again. "Better than my sisters, better -"

"Better than your sisters, but not better than you, I suppose?" Betha demanded.

"You didn't let me finish!" Egg protested, his voice raised high. Dunk winced. _Lad. Lad. This is not the way to win over anyone with gallant compliments. Even Dunk the Lunk knows that._

Surprisingly, at least surprisingly to Dunk, Betha said, "Go on, then. Finish what you were going to say."

But now Egg was speechless, the tips of his ears already reddening. His cheeks would be all red too, soon. Dunk tried to help, saying, "What my squire meant -", but Egg quickly interrupted, finally finding his voice.

"You were magnificent on your pony. It was like ... it was like the two of you were _one,_ in a perfect union, and he knew exactly what you were thinking, and you knew exactly what he was thinking. I was fascinated, but envious too. I never had that, that perfect understanding, not with any animal I rode."

"No one has ever ridden Blacky before. I am the first, and I will be the last. And I will never ride another horse as long as he lives."

Egg nodded, as if he completely understood.

"Though," Betha continued, sliding closer towards Egg, the look on her face no longer so unfriendly, "I have always wanted to try riding a mule. You have a mule, I hear."

"Well, it is Ser Duncan's mule, really," Egg replied, "but I'm the one who rides Maester more often than not."

"Maester? Is your mule really called Maester? Why?" Dunk heard Betha asking, as she and Egg were leaving for the stables. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short epilogue :D

Egg began, “Your gown -”

Betha interrupted. “If you are going to say,  _'Your gown brings out the color of your eyes,'_ I wish you would save yourself the bother. Granted, it is not as terrible as  _'Your hair brings out the color of your eyes_ ,' but it is still quite dreadful.”

Egg blushed, at the reminder of his first attempt to pay Betha a gallant compliment, years ago.

“That is  _not_  what I am trying to say,” he insisted. “Though, it cannot be denied that the whiteness of the gown you are wearing does indeed bring out the color of your eyes and your hair. The contrast -”

Betha rolled her eyes. “You sound just like my sister's betrothed in one of his long-winded letters.  _'The darkness of your eyes and your hair would paint a starkly beautiful contrast to the whiteness of the snow in Winterfell, my dearest Melantha.'_ We laughed for hours and hours, Melantha and I, after reading that utter failure of a compliment.”

Egg disagreed. “Your sister's betrothed managed to insert the name of his House in the compliment. I find that  _very_  original indeed. He deserves to be applauded for his effort.”

“I quite understand your predicament,” Betha said, adopting the tone of someone making allowances for a less fortunate creature. “You must think that you are not in a position to judge other men for the unoriginality of their compliments, considering the failure of your own past attempts at paying gallant compliments to ladies of all ages.”

Egg looked mightily offended. “I  _have_  learned to be more original in my compliments, since that first time we met.”

Betha looked unconvinced. “Have you? Have you really? We'll have to see about that. You have yet to convince me of this newfound talent of yours. So what were you going to say about my gown?”

“I was going to say,  _'Your gown makes you look like a charming bride, my lady.'_ ”

“Charming? Don't you mean beautiful? Brides are  _always_ called beautiful on their wedding day, no matter how unflattering they may look on other days. There has never been an ugly bride in the entire history of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Charming sounds more original than beautiful, surely?”

“Certainly not. And I think it is very presumptuous of you to speak of me as your bride, as if I have already agreed to it.”

“I said  _a_  charming bride, not  _my_ charmingbride.”

“ _Did_  you? Well, I must have misheard you.”

“Perhaps you heard what you  _wanted_  to hear,” said Egg, keeping his tone light and teasing, not daring to hope.

“If I am to be wed, which is not a certainty at all, mind you, but  _if_  I am, then I  _certainly_  would not be wearing a  _white_  gown at the wedding,” scoffed Betha.

“What color would you rather be wearing, at this wedding that may or may not take place?”

“Black, of course. I am a Blackwood of Raventree after all.”


End file.
